I did a show last night. It was fine, there were about 20 people in attendance, which makes it the fourth best show I’ve done this year. (Gunshot…thud) All suicide laughs aside, it was interesting because it was a rock bar with gothic crosses and a picture of Ozzy the size of my front door by the men’s room. Interesting, because the crowd was 92% black. There’s black Ozzy fans…they hang out with Santa Claus and honest politicians.
I did the show, no complaints, except one. I’m not a diva and the headliner was funny, but he was also 17. That is a kick directly in the balls. No offense, but when I started comedy, the headliner was having wet dreams and watching cartoons. So now, as I type this, I’m listening to the Cult and pounding Busch Light like I’m on commission. Oh well. Complaining about who gets the headliner spot at a 20 person crowd show is like bitching that you’re seventh in the gangbang and not sixth. Hey, what am I? An animal? The answer, sadly, is yes.